“We arrive as the sun begins to wane and are shown to a spot by the stage. The tables by the elongated, convex windows that fill one entire wall of the restaurant are full of bankers negotiating lobster claws and oversized steaks.”
“Jonesy and I make our way through the reception area of The Mandeville and slip into the low-lit cocktail bar. Fresh from the book, I immediately feel like Ripley. My recent reading is having a palpable effect on my state of mind, my sanity.”
“I had yet to be initiated into the underground world of supper clubs. There is something almost clandestine about surreptitiously slipping into a stranger’s house for them to wine and dine you along with other unknowns…”
Michelin used to evaluate a restaurant based on whether it was worth a detour. Here, Victoria Haschka profiles 10 dishes so outstanding that they just might be considered destinations in themselves.
“A kilner jar filled with what looks like lime green lettuce leaves has been placed in front of me. Popping it open, to my horror and delight I find an army of ants crawling across cabbage leaves…”
“Recently, I happened to mention Bermondsey Street as a gastronomic hotspot to an old family friend – he scowled and looked at me like I was speaking in tongues.”
When Sake No Hana first opened several years ago, I thought it was the headquarters of some murky secret society; it looked so mysterious from the outside. The external walls were almost entirely black and disconcertingly opaque…
“Perched atop an office block, just down the road from London Bridge station, the Skyroom is the perfect spot for an urban roof garden. You feel like you’re one of the lucky few in on a secret as you look down over the rush-hour traffic…”
“The 143 reviews on Trip Advisor turned out to be spot on – praising Valerie Thomson for her outstanding preparation of the finest seafood, partnered with her daughter Vicky’s warm and welcoming front of house.”
“Old masters line the walls, providing a touch of clubby propriety, but the general tone is of a darker elegance than that. I decide this will be my new haunt when looking for late night refreshment in St. James’s.”
“The harsh light of a June morning comes crashing through the shutters as she wrenches them open to expose me to daylight. 7am. “It’s my birthday,” I grunt, tired, reddened eyes squinting at this cruel torturer.”
“I’ve gone down the rabbit hole and there’s no telling when, or if, I’ll come out. In front of me is a dish that smells of freshly cut grass. Truffles and toadstools float in a thick pond of green, their tops covered with what looks like dried basil.”